Goodbye
by Bottled.Stardust
Summary: A speculation about the 11th Doctor's regeneration.


a/n hey! so I've been working like crazy on the next chapter of The Pocket Watch, but it's taking me a while and since I have loads of stuff in my folder (one shots and the like) I can upload those while I'm working on the multichapter fic. Here's a bit of regeneration speculation, because I really wanted to give it a go. Enjoy, and don't forget to drop a review by, I'd appreciate it!

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Everything was a blur. The landscape flew by, and all Clara was conscious of was the feeling of the Doctor's hand in hers, and her feet pounding against the barren landscape. And one word, just one, echoing over and over in her head in the Doctor's frantic voice. "RUN!"

She could feel him stumble. Though his legs kept him easily several paces ahead of her, she could feel the trembling sweatiness with which his fingers gripped hers, feel every unevenness in his step, every time he faltered. All she could do was trip along behind him, silently thanking whatever god was out there when they finally came upon the familiar sight of the old police box, tall and blue against the dark gray sky. Sonic in hand, the Doctor plowed straight into the TARDIS doors, which opened for him as he barreled towards them relentlessly.

Their fingers broke contact the moment they were at the doorway. Clara stumbled into the TARDIS after the Doctor, dazedly pulling the doors closed behind her and slumping against them with a sigh. She blew a strand of sweaty brown hair out of her face and then straightened up and tucked it behind one ear. "Are you okay?" She asked the Doctor as she slowly crossed the console room on shaking legs towards him.

He nodded to her briefly, panting as hard as she was. "Yes," He managed, though his voice was trembling. "Yes, I think so." His tone grew concerned. "Are you?"

Clara had collapsed against the railings, blinking furiously. Golden spots were speckling the edges of her vision and making her head throb. With a groan, she buried her head in her hands and managed a small nod. "I'll be fine," She mumbled through her fingers. "I'm just out of breath."

There were a few moments of silence. Clara, regaining her breath, managed to look back up at the Time Lord standing in front of her. He hadn't moved from his position by the console, but he was still trembling, fists clenched. Clara blinked again, but the golden spots were back—tiny and persistent, swimming in front of her eyes, around the Doctor. She closed her eyes and rubbed at them with her palms, causing another sound of concern from the Doctor. She felt his warm hand on her shoulder. "Clara?" He asked her, voice soft. "Are you okay?"

She let her eyes flicker open and rest on the sight of his hand on her sleeve. He must have felt her tense up, because he moved his hand right away. "Doctor?" Clara asked, panic rising in her voice as she gripped his hand between hers. A tiny spiral of golden smoke escaped from one finger and curled up her arm. She jumped back, trembling.

"Clara?" The Doctor turned his gaze down and raised his hands, inspecting them closely. Through her half-closed eyes, Clara realized his skin had begun to glow faintly in the bright console room. He smiled sadly as Clara stood stock still like a deer in the headlights, watching him silently. "Oh," He murmured softly. "It's starting."

"Doctor!" And like that, Clara's trance was broken. She flew forward, grabbing his hand and enclosing his fingers in hers, shaking her head desperately, whispering "No, no, no, _no_, _NO!"_ as she tried to stop the trails of light dancing from his fingertips. "Stop it, Doctor. Stop it. Please!" She hadn't even noticed when she started to cry, but now the tears streamed down her cheeks as she hugged his hand to her chest, curling up into herself.

"It's okay, Clara. It's all right." She could hear the Doctor's soothing words, feel his free hand on her hair, but she just blubbered wordlessly and hugged his hand closer, shaking her head more. When she finally looked back up, vision marred from too many tears spilling from her eyes, she realized he was still looking at her with that maddeningly calm smile, though there was sadness in his eyes, too.

She felt herself grow furious suddenly. "No!" She almost screamed at him, instantly recoiling because the hurt flashed across his face at her outburst. She fell forward and buried her face in his familiar-smelling purple tweed jacket, small hands clutching at his shirt frantically, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. He embraced her and she stayed like that for a while, mumbling nonsense into his coat.

It seemed like an eternity before she felt his hands grip her shoulders and she reluctantly pulled herself back to look up at him. His face was too emotionless. "Are you all right?" He asked her, but his voice was too soft, too peaceful.

In all her rage, Clara slammed her hands against his chest. "No! I'm not all right. And neither are you, you're dying! Stop acting to maddeningly calm!" Her voice broke on too many tears. "Stop acting like you're not just as afraid as I am. Please."

And right before her eyes, the Doctor's defenses crumbled. His head drooped, and she could feel his hands beginning to shake. "I'm so sorry," He whispered. "Clara, I'm so… I'm so sorry. I don't want to go." He raised his gaze to meet hers, his eyes stained with tears that hadn't been there moments before. "I don't want to die. I'm not ready. I'm not!"

His last words were at such a volume that they scared Clara more than she thought a voice ever could. She stumbled backwards, pulling his hands off her shoulders so she was holding them again. No words came out of her mouth; instead she just brought his hands up to her face and stayed like that, shaking, not meeting his eyes.

"Clara, please." His voice was so quiet, so utterly devoid of hope, that it made Clara's heart plummet into her feet when she heard those two soft words. His hands slowly moved to intertwine with hers, and she looked up at him, at that kind, wonderful, face, and the knowledge that soon she'd never see it again struck her and she felt fresh tears swell up in her eyes as a choking sob escaped her throat. "Clara, you have to get back. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't hold the regeneration back much longer. I can feel it slipping."

He'd put it on again, that brave face, that quiet, calm acceptance of his fate. She knew it was all just a mask. "I can't get back," She mumbled hopelessly. "I'll never see you again."

He gave a small, almost breathless laugh. "Of course you will, Clara. I'll see you again soon through different eyes. These old ones have seen far too much… loss…" His voice began to crack and break, as if he couldn't form the words properly anymore. "Get back, Clara. Please."

The full, brunt force of the event hit Clara straight in the chest like a kick, knocking the wind from her as it sunk in. These were her last moments with this Doctor, _her _Doctor, before he would be lost to her forever. She didn't want a new Doctor. She wanted him to stay here, with her, and not go… changing his face again. Her fingers curled into fists as she shook, standing only a meter or so away from him as he watched her desolately, golden trails spilling from his fingers.

And then, in a last, desperate act, Clara threw herself forward and kissed him.

It didn't last long enough. She felt his hands, warmed by the regeneration energy, tangle in her hair for half a heartbeat before she was pushed back by a burst of light. She collapsed against the railings of the console, her hands wrapping tightly around the cold metal as she closed her eyes against the golden energy filling the room. She was vaguely aware of a screaming sound. It might have been the Doctor, or maybe she herself was the one who was screaming. And then the light and the noise died and they were plunged into silence, except for the normal hum of the TARDIS. Clara didn't dare open her eyes, but she heard a voice. A new voice. And it said only one thing. "Clara?"

But it was a strong voice, and it was a good one and she liked the way her name sounded with it. So cautiously, ever so cautiously, she uncurled herself from the railings, loosened her fingers from their fists, and turned around.


End file.
